


Black Heart

by chambers_none



Category: One Direction
Genre: Angst, Angsty angsty angst, Flashbacks, Fluff, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chambers_none/pseuds/chambers_none
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles had a black heart. Too bad Ed loved it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Ed knows a lot of things about Harry: every movement, every mannerism, every favourite and dislike and quirk compiled into a database in his mind, in a box labelled “Caution: Heartbreak.”
> 
> Also available on [LJ](http://reparture.livejournal.com/2879.html)

Ed knows how Harry eats his M&M’s, the ones with peanuts in them.

He’s always been kind of fascinated with the way Harry eats those, but it’s a creepy kind of fascination so he hasn’t exactly confessed his habit to Harry. Ed prefers to watch in quiet, occasionally doing things like pull out a smoke, or glance at a passing somebody, so that it doesn’t look blatantly obvious that he’s staring. He likes how Harry doesn’t actually bite into the sweet, maybe crack his teeth on the shell, but never bites. This mean Harry has to suck on the chocolate, and Ed likes the way his cheeks are taut and the bottom half of his face will be more angular, V-shaped. It’s borderline psychotic how much he pays attention to him doing that, of all things, but; oh, it’s beautiful, how the muscles in Harry’s face tense and ripple, how they move.

Ed knows a lot of things about Harry: every movement, every mannerism, every favourite and dislike and quirk compiled into a database in his mind, in a box labelled “Caution: Heartbreak.”

-

They met through him, Louis.

It was ironic, everything- their situation, how they met, the love triangle, if he was to put a name to it- but life liked to tease him and poke fun at him and mock his existence.

(He met Harry though- so he supposed it was all fair now, and he took life’s bullying graciously, gratitiously even.)

Ed had vaguely known Louis- how they’d met, he’d forgotten (at some party, was it?), but how he and Harry met, he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t remember.

It was at a party (wasn’t it always?). Ed recalled something sloshing about in his wine glass- where was the vodka, the whiskey, the actual beer, he wondered- and he was a little drunk, by then. Objects were losing their focus and some colours were starting to hurt his eyes, and oh, what was that godawful music-

“Ed!” A brown haired boy- oh yes, that was Louis- was pushing, no, tugging someone else to him: Ed wondered vaguely if it was the alcohol or the boy’s eyes were really that bright, vivid, hypnotic green-

And that’s how he met Harry.

The boy, younger than him by a couple years maybe, was curly-haired and flushed, and a little breathless. He had tripped over his own feet, stumbling over his long legs in a haste to get to Ed; he’d found it endearing and a little adorable even back then.

“Hi.” the stranger grinned at him, and Ed hoped the flashing strobe lights masked his sudden blush.

“Hey there,” he replies easily, although slowly. (He blamed the alcohol.)

“This here’s Harry. He’s… he’s kind of a fan,” Louis slurred, pushing Harry towards Ed, but then Harry stumbled again, and one of his hands caught on Ed’s chest, the other on his glass. The glass tipped, its contents spilling on Ed and Harry.

“I- I’m sorry! I-” the other boy was clearly terrified, and panicking, and Ed wondered again if it was because that he had spilt someone’s drink, or if it was because he had spilt a drink over Ed Sheeran.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Ed has grinned at Harry (oh, how he had liked the name- HarryHarryHarry) and he ushered the both of them to the bathroom. They’d fail to clean up, instead splashing water at each other like little children, Louis long gone and Ed hadn’t seen him since.

“Here’s my number,” Harry had given to him, and Ed was momentarily shocked, dazed that he’d gotten his number. 

They swapped contact information, and the rest was history.

-

They didn’t kiss on their first date (which took Ed months to build the courage up to ask Harry out.) Or their second. Or their third.

Harry finally kissed him on their fourth.

They’d had a movie marathon: Shrek (twelve times now), Love Actually (five and counting) and a bunch of others. The next day was slowly creeping in, the weak morning light surging across the floor to a crumpled bag of crisps. Ed was fighting to keep his eyes open; by then, he’d had half the scenes of the aforementioned movies memorized, as had Harry, he was sure. He wanted to sleep, he did- craved it oh so desperately. But Harry was beside him, and he hadn’t wanted to let go so easily of any moments he had with Harry.

Suddenly he felt Harry tense beside him. The boy had been thinking again, and Ed waited, in still silence before Harry asked pointedly (he always knew when Harry was about to do something): “Ed, are you gay?”

He’d choked: definitely hadn’t been expecting that.

Harry instantly shifted away from him, moving back, apologies of “sorry, sorry“ being muttered and Ed turned to the younger boy. “Uh, I guess I am, if you want to put a label on it. I mean, I thought that’d be what these dates were for.”

Harry had looked at him cautiously, almost nervously. “Really?”

Ed blinked. “Yeah.”

Harry surged up to him, grabbing and yanking him by the shirt. “Good.”

And because that’s what they’ve both been waiting for, they kissed.

-

Harry’s eyes turn different colour in the winter, Ed realized. A sort of grey and blue, with tinges of brown, and the original vivid green hidden behind now, serving as a background to all those other colours.

“What?” Harry had laughed, embarrassed, catching Ed watch him.

“Nothing,” Ed grinned at him, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

-

He should have known something was wrong.

He must have, but chose to ignore it, wrapped in the lie he had fabricated for himself.

“No, Ed-“

“Harry, don’t you dare tell me-“

“But-“

“I saw you kiss him, Harry! I saw you!”

The last sentence uttered was yelled, actually, and Ed saw Harry flinch.

“Look, Ed, you know I lo-“

“Then tell me.” Ed rounded up on Harry, his eyes wet and betraying him, and his voice hoarse, like after a concert. “Explain to me why you were so busy kissing… him.” He’d choked out the last word, not daring to say his name.

Harry closed his eyes, wincing. “Ed. I love-“

“You don’t, Harry. I don’t know if you ever did, but you sure as hell don’t now. Don’t fucking say those words, Harry. Go home.”

Afterwards, Ed wraps himself in his arms and cries.

-

It’s 3.02 am in the morning and Ed can’t sleep. There’s just something about performing to a crowd, no matter how small, an indescribable sort of adrenaline rush. Like coffee and Redbull and a dozen sugared candies all in one.

Unfortunately, as liberating as it is, usually the consequences of it are him being so dead tired afterwards he’d collapse on any available surface, or stay awake for hours. Right now, he’s stuck with the latter.

Ed checks his phone again for what must be the hundredth time, pointlessly - 3.04 am now, he stares blearily at the screen, wishing for sleep to come and take him, and suddenly, there’s a text.

 

03:04, May 10

Hey, you awake?

 

03:05, May 10

Yeah… couldn’t sleep. Concert. What you doing up babe?

 

03:08, May 10

Couldn’t sleep either.

 

03:08, May 10

Want me to sing to you?

Ed grinned at the illuminated screen of his phone, the blue glow casting a spotlight on his chalk skin and showcasing his bared teeth. Before he can even begin to response to the text, however, a call comes from ‘Harry’ and the boy’s beaming face popped up on the screen. Ed paused only for a moment before accepting the call, eagerly holding the phone up to his ear.

“Harry,” he breathed.

“Thought you weren’t going to pick up, Ed,” the younger lad chortles on the other end of the line, and Ed’s thankful the boy isn’t present to see his short-lived blush.

Ed hummed, and Harry’s voice comes out once again through the speakers. “What song, babe?”

His heart leapt; those three words, not even ‘I love you’, mind, reminded him of why the call had taken place and Ed was overwhelmed with the feeling he felt for Harry.

“Uh.. a-anything,” he managed to stutter out, face matching his hair.

Harry’s voice crooned out through the speakers, and Ed recognised the opening tunes of Yellow by Coldplay. He smiled, settling on his pillow properly, and hit Loudspeaker after placing the phone on his chest, in between his two ribs, so he could feel the pulse of Harry’s voice spread through him, fill him up like warm, thick honey.

Barely a minute later, he was asleep.

-

He’s been dreading this day for a while now, sluggishly going through the motions like an incompetent robot. Get out of bed, brush his teeth, toast bread… Then the knock came.

He stood on one side of the door, hand held out to the doorknob. Bracing himself. Might as well get it over with, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door, cold London air hitting him in the face.

Liam and Zayn stood outside, a box in the latter’s hands. The realisation hit him so hard, so painfully, he was sure there was a massive dent in his heart somewhere. That Harry couldn’t even bother to come to collect his things, or that he couldn’t bear to face Ed.. The former was more likely, now that he had another man. Him. Ed’s throat tightened.

Wordlessly, he invited the two band mates in, and waved them to the pile of Harry’s things in the living room- a scarf of his, some DVDs, a worn toothbrush. He watched detachedly, like viewing a movie, and he wonders why life was cruel, why Harry was cruel. 

As they’re leaving, Ed risks one question. “Did.. did he ever love me?”

His voice is unfamiliar, cracked.

Zayn’s eyes cast down, eyelashes framing his cheekbones, and all Ed can think is, Harry’s were shorter, but prettier, much prettier. Zayn’s reply is soft, almost inaudible.

“Once.”

He nods, and the two boys move out, become mere specks on the horizon of London’s grey, murky weather.

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to Claire, who prompted this ages ago. Thanks bb, you're the best. Also, as mentioned, this was written ages ago, I'm simply cross-posting, so this is kind of shite, but I hope you enjoyed it x


End file.
